


there are three parts to a story

by weasleyspotter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Like most of my fics Hydra may exist but Grant isn't part of it, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weasleyspotter/pseuds/weasleyspotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. No one expects memory loss when she wakes up, but they all have to deal with the aftermath of it. Loosely based on The Vow (very very loosely).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Two weeks ago, I got a bunch of prompts for the angst meme, and there were three of them that I felt sort of connected, or at least I could come up with a plot that connected all three of them. I've written memory loss AU, but this is a different take on the idea, so I hope you'll give it a chance. Also through this fic I discovered that I could write SkyeLance angst, how exciting! So the first chapter is more SkyeLance centered, and it's for the prompt (given by jemmadanvers) 'SkyeLance' and major injury. Also Ward x Simmons is a bit more on the back burner in this fic, but they play a big role throughout the story.

i.

Her head is aching when she blinks awake.

"Ow," she moans, as the bright fluorescent hospital lights flood her vision.

She hears something rustle beside her, and Jemma’s worried face comes into view. “Skye?” She asks.

“Give me a moment,” Skye pleads, shutting her eyes. The darkness is welcome, and she wants to sleep some more, but another low voice speaks to Jemma about concussions, and her eyes spring open. “I’m not concussed.” She says defensively. “I’m tired.”

The low voice, a man in a lab coat, looks sheepish as she glares at him.

“I know,” Jemma says soothingly. “How’s your head?”

“Aching,” Skye admits.

“We should up her painkillers.” The doctor says, glancing at her chart. “We’ve been weaning her off the morphine, and she’s got acetaminophen. We could probably start her on vicodin.”

Jemma ignores the Doctor. “There are a lot of people who want to see you.” She speaks in a low happy tone. “We were all so worried when you passed out.” She gives a short laugh. “Lance is throwing a fit, but you know him, he won't actually admit it. Ever since we brought you in, he's been sitting in a corner, glaring at the wall. He demanded to get into see you as soon as the surgery was over.”

Skye opens her mouth curiously, but the Doctor cuts her off. “She can have visitors in a moment,” the Doctor assures Jemma. “I just have a few more questions for Mrs. Hunter.”

“Who’s Mrs. Hunter?” Skye asks.

Both the Doctor and Jemma turn towards Skye, eyes wide.

The Doctor recovers first. “I guess that answers one of them,” the Doctor murmurs under his breath. “Skye,” he says slowly, “what is the last thing you remember?”

Thinking it was a stupid question, she answers bluntly. “I was shot by Ian Quinn. Twice I think. Shouldn’t that be in my chart, I mean, it’s kind of a big deal.” Absentmindedly, she runs a light hand over her stomach, which she thinks should be hard with bandages and plaster and gauze. But she freezes when all she meets is hospital gown and then skin.

Suddenly Jemma’s shock makes sense.

“What’s going on?” She asks, her eyes widening with fear.

“Miss. Skye,” the Doctor says in a low soothing voice, “we think you might be suffering from memory loss, but we’re not sure the extent of your memory loss. You need to remain calm.”

Skye turns towards Jemma, “Who’s Mrs. Hunter?” She demands.

Jemma flinches, then she freezes, a mask of professionalism crossing over her face. “The Doctor’s right, Skye,” she takes a step towards Skye’s bed. “We need to assess the extent of your memory loss.”

Skye closes her eyes in anger, trying to control her hyperventilating, throwing a fit won't help her here. “Okay,” she says, “what do you need to know.”

“Do you remember me?” Jemma asks, almost tentatively.

“Of course,” Skye’s eyes flew open in disbelief. “You’re Jemma Simmons, biochemist. And I remember Fitz, and my super grumpy S.O., Ward, and May and Coulson.” Skye lists off. “I don’t remember who Mrs. Hunter is.” She prompts.

And maybe she looks too eagerly at her, because Jemma ignores that. “Okay,” she says, “that’s good.” She pauses for a moment. “What about Trip, Mack, Lance or Bobbi?” She lists carefully, without emphasizing any of the names.

The headache intensifies as she ponders the names. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “It hurts to think.”

“Okay, okay,” Jemma soothes, reaching forward to brush some hair off her forehead. "We'll try that later."

But Skye focuses on something else. “I have bangs now?” She asks raising an eyebrow.

Jemma gives a short watery laugh. “Yeah,” she smiles, a real genuine smile.

“How long have I been out?” Skye asks, her voice laced with pain at the thought of missing anything important. She got bangs for godssake, she must have missed more than that.

“Technically you’ve been unconscious for six hours,” the Doctor responds promptly.

Skye shoots him a dirty look, before turning back towards Jemma. “You know what I mean.”

Jemma bits down on her lip. “It’s hard to say,” she says slowly, “but it appears that you have lost maybe three years of your memory.”

“Three years,” Skye mumbles numbly, she definitely missed a lot.

There’s a knock on the door, and a head pokes in the door. He’s handsome, Skye realizes instantly. And there’s some oh so familiar about him, his short brown, his scruff. His name is on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t put it together.

“Simmons,” he says gruffly. He doesn’t even glance at her, while she ogles at him. “How much longer?”

“Lance,” Jemma gasps at him, her eyes darting back to Skye for only a second, but that’s long enough for the man to notice and glance over at her.

“Skye,” he breathes out in relief, and pushes the door open to stride towards her. “Bloody hell, woman.” He pushes the doctor aside and grabs her hand tightly. “You’re going to kill me one day. I nearly had an aneurysm out there.”

She glances towards Jemma in surprise. “Uh,” she stalls, trying to place this man, he definitely knew her, and he was forward with her, so he must be important.

His eyes narrow on her expression. “What’s wrong?”

Jemma looks paralyzed, and Skye realizes she will be no help. “Erm,” she says hesistantly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

ii.

She can hear his voice from the hallway.

“What do you mean she can’t bloody remember me?!” His voice carries down the hallway, reverberating off every corridor. For some reason, she can almost imagine him towering over Jemma, who he had dragged out of the room when she had asked who he was.

“Calm down,” another voice interjects. This voice she places almost immediately. Her S.O. Mr. Stick up his ass. Agent Grant Ward. She feels a sense of relief that he’s there. Jemma wouldn't have to face that man alone for something that isn't her fault.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Ward.” The man practically growls. “My wife just asked me who I was.”

She feels a flash of shock at the word wife, but she’s not as surprised as she expects she should be. Since the Doctor had called her Mrs. Hunter, and Jemma had admitted that she was missing three years worth of memories, she had almost figured that she was missing something, someone, huge.

She is married.

That’s a strange thought.

She had never really thought about getting married. It felt frilly and wrong growing up. Her only exposure to marriage was through her various foster parents who weren’t the best examples. And when she had gotten older, marriage had seemed more theory than reality. There had been a moment with Miles where if he had asked, she would have said yes. But that passed, and she had come to the conclusion that she was much better off alone.

But she is married. To some man. Who she doesn’t remember.

(Apparently, somewhere down the line, her conclusions had changed.)

“Lance,” Jemma’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “We don’t know much right now. It seems like she doesn’t remember anything after Quinn shot her.”

“That was three years ago.” Ward interjects; the shock in his voice is unfamiliar to Skye.

“Is this permanent?” Lance (her husband, oh god) asks in a hard voice.

No one speaks for a long moment.

“Simmons,” Lance’s voice asks warningly.

“Stop,” Grant’s voice strikes like a thunder.

There’s another pause, and she barely hears Jemma’s faint, “No, Grant.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.” Lance’s voice sounds stricken, almost like he’s forgotten himself. “Sorry, Simmons. It’s just,” she pictures him running a hand through his hair in frustration, and she wonders why the image is so familiar. “I want her back. I need to know that I'll have her back soon, that this isn't permanent.”

“Lance,” she can hear the tears in Jemma’s voice. “I’m so sorry, but I’m really not sure.”

“If it’s permanent, that means that she could never remember me.” There’s heartbreak in Lance’s voice.

She doesn’t know what Jemma does next, because the next thing she hears is a soft thud against her door and muted sobs.

iii.

When the door opens again, she tenses, and then feels a sick sense of relief at the sight of Jemma.

“Knock knock,” Jemma sing songs, her eyes slightly red, but her face betrays no sign of the tears she obviously shed. “Someone’s here to see you.”

For a moment she tenses, but before she can open her mouth and claim that she’s too tired for visitors, Ward steps through the door. She perks up at his appearance. He looks older, not obviously. He isn’t wrinkly and tired looking, like an old man. But there’s something different about his face, more mature, like he's been through a lot in the past three years and it's changed him.

Jemma follows in afterwards. And Skye didn’t notice it before, but there is something about the way Jemma artfully holds her lab coat around her stomach. She can barely notice the slight bulge of Jemma’s stomach.

She files the information for when she’s not having a mental breakdown.

“Are you here to tell me what I already know?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at the pair of them.

Ward glances towards Jemma, before he answers. “What do you know?” He asks carefully.

“I don’t remember three years of my life.” Skye lists off, “and I’m married.”

“You know about Lance?” Ward cuts her off, his eyes widening comically. There's a spark of hope in them that makes her feel a bit guilty for springing the news on them. 

“I don’t remember him,” Skye admits. “I heard you talking outside.”

Ward and Jemma exchange looks again. “Sorry about that,” Jemma says quietly.

Skye shrugs. “So what are you here to tell me?”

There's a moment where Ward and Jemma glance at the each other like they're trying to decide who will speak. “We’re here to tell you what you need to know.” Ward says finally.

She thinks of all people, perhaps the news is better delivered from Ward and Simmons. May and Coulson would heavily filter what they were saying, because of the whole need to know thing. While Fitz would filter what he would say because he wouldn’t want to overwhelm her. Ward and Simmons were the perfect balance of need to know and too much information that she might just start having a panic attack.

“Okay,” she clasps her hands in front of her, ready for the onslaught of information. “What have I missed?”

“Three years ago,” Ward says slowly, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. “An organization named Hydra reemerged.”

“Wait, Hydra?” Skye interrupts. “Like Nazi Hydra? The people that Captain America fought.”

“Yeah,” Jemma say. “They’ve been a part of Shield for a long time, and when we discovered Garrett was the Clairvoyant—.”

“Garrett?” Skye whirls towards Ward, whose jaw clenches at the mention of the name. “Your S.O.?”

Ward gives a stiff nod. “The reveal nearly destroyed Shield,” his voice is hard. “We’ve been working to take down Hydra ever since.”

She muses on that. Obviously they’ve been doing something right if she felt comfortable enough to get married and Simmons is pregnant. “Anything else?” She asks, feeling only slightly more overwhelmed.

Ward looks thoughtful. “Coulson’s director of Shield and we don’t work on the Bus anymore.”

“That’s it?” Skye raises an eyebrow. That couldn’t be three years worth of memories. It sounded more like a month, maybe even a day, knowing them.

“The Doctor thinks it would be a good idea for you to gain as many of your memories back on your own,” Jemma interjects with a kind smile. “We’re just telling you what you need to know.”

“Oh,” Skye sighs. “So you’re not going to tell me about my husband.”

Jemma looks uncomfortable, “Actually, that’s what we’re here to discuss. The Doctors want to discharge you tomorrow. Your injuries are healing quite well, and aside from the memory loss, you’re showing no lingering brain damage. I’ll be able to handle your care from here on.”

“Great,” Skye chimes in, perking up. But Ward and Jemma are not so excited. “What’s the problem?” She asks, her face falling slightly.

“The problem is,” Ward cuts in gruffly, “We’re not living on the Bus anymore.”

Jemma shots Ward a look. “What Grant means to say is that you are currently living in an apartment off base with,” she trails off uncomfortably.

“My husband,” Skye murmurs numbly. “Of course.”

“Grant and I were thinking,” Jemma begins slowly, a sympathetic look on her face, “We have a spare bedroom. And if you wanted, you could stay with us.”

It takes a moment for the implication to sink in. “Wait,” she screeches, “You and Ward? He knocked you up?”

Ward looks offended while Jemma gasps, “How did you know?”

“That you’re pregnant?” Skye scoffs, “I can see the bump.” She pauses for a moment. “No offense,” she adds on.

“None taken,” Jemma murmurs, letting go of her lab coat a bit. “We’re married, actually.”

Skye’s mouth drops open. “You and Agent Tightwad? I’ll admit, I didn’t see it coming.”

Ward’s jaw clenches and Skye expects him to immediately detract the invitation to crash in his guest bedroom, Jemma casts him another indecipherable look. “Skye,” she says sweetly. “Would you like to spend your recovery time in our house?”

Skye muses on that for a moment. It would be so easy to take up Jemma’s offer. But she doubted that was any way to regain her memories. She sighs. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think that maybe going back to my home,” the word slips off her tongue strangely, “will help me.”

Jemma smiles. “That’s really good, Skye,” she encourages. “The Doctor suggested it, but we wanted to give you a choice.”

“Thanks,” Skye repeats glumly, wishing she could take it back.

“Don’t worry,” Jemma says brightly. “Everything will work out.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Ward cuts in with surprising softness. “Our offer still stands.”

iv.

  
She expects him to come in after Ward and Simmons leave.

Jemma lingers by her bed for so long that she thinks if it weren’t for Ward practically hauling her out of the room insisting that she needed sleep, Jemma would have curled up on the loveseat by Skye’s bed. And the notion is touching, but Skye is sure that isn’t good for Jemma’s back.

She doesn’t know much about marriages, much less her own, but she honestly expects Lance to poke his head in after they leave and do typical my wife doesn’t remember me things, like promise to love her forever even if she doesn’t have memories, or show her their wedding photos, or emotionally move her into loving him again by sobbing at her beside and begging for her back, and thinks that all of those things should have caused her to have an emotional overload which would reboot her brain and give her back all her memories. .

But he doesn’t show.

Eventually she gets tired of staring at the door, tensed, waiting him for show up, and she falls asleep.

And when she wakes up, he’s there.

He’s not asleep, like she would assume. But he’s slumped over in the chair beside her bed, staring at her face with strangely tender eyes. He stiffens as soon as her eyes flutter awake.

Self-consciously, she rubs at her face, because she’s a drooler. And he’s her husband, so he’s probably seen the drool, but she doesn’t remember that, and she’d rather not relive that mortification yet.

“Good morning,” he says slowly, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Morning,” she mumbles, rubbing at her face absently. “Is it morning?” She glances at the window, which is still darkened by the shades pulled shut.

“Erm,” Lance clears his throat, glancing at his watch, as he straightens in the chair. “Yeah, it’s five thirty?”

“Crap,” Skye moans, falling back into the pillow. “It’s too early.” Maybe if she buries herself in the pillow deep enough, she’ll fall asleep and effectively avoid a conversation with the one person she’s waiting for.

“You never were a morning person,” he says, but it’s muffled and Skye isn’t sure she’s hearing everything he’s saying. She lifts her face off the pillow a bit, and he senses the movement. “Simmons,” he begins slowly. “She said that you were coming to come home tomorrow when you’re discharged.”

At this, Skye sits up ramrod straight and stares at him. “Uh,” she stalls for a moment, trying to kick-start her brain into gear. “Yes, I thought it would be best for my, you know, lack of memory.”

He winces.

“Sorry,” she says halfheartedly. She pauses for a moment, “This is going to be weird, isn’t it?”

He looks up suddenly, his eyes wide. And slowly he relaxes; a haggard look crosses his face making him look older. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, and then stays quiet after that.

v.

The first day is the worst.

They discharge her in the morning, and she’s throws a minor fit because the hospital insists on wheeling her out of there, she ends up thoroughly scares the volunteer that assigned to her. Ward and Simmons show up, and there’s no Fitz who Jemma merely explains with a kind smile is actually helping Coulson out with something and will be along later to see her. And for that matter Coulson and May are also a no show, but she assumes this has more to do with the whole running Shield thing, so she tries not to take it too personally.

Lance is there too, but that’s not a surprise. They are going to his (their) house after all.

When they get to the parking lot, and she realizes that Lance and the Wards probably brought separate cars, she quickly asks Jemma where their car is, and Jemma looks uncertainly at Lance for a moment before she points out a SUV in the corner.

Ward purses his lips and turns towards Lance. “We’ll meet you there.”

She expects for Ward and Simmons to give her lecture on the way to the house, but they’re surprisingly quiet, except for the occasional glances they shoot each other.

She chalks it up to a married thing.

“So,” she drawls out. “Where’s the rings?”

“What?” Jemma whirls around to face her, confusion painting her face.

“The rings?” Skye holds up her left hand. “Eternal sign for wedding and commitment, wear it on your left hand ring finger, supposedly because there’s a vein that leads directly to your heart.”

“That’s not true,” Jemma deflects instantly.

“Whatever,” Skye rolls her eyes. “Where’s your rings?”

“We don’t wear rings,” Ward says gruffly, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

“Grant can’t have the tan lines,” Jemma explains quickly, “And I work with chemicals all the time. I’d have to take the ring off every time I wear gloves. So we decided to wear them around our necks.”

“And therefore you actually keep them closer to your heart.” Skye leans forward to clap Ward on the shoulder. He cringes at the touch. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“You wore your rings on your finger though,” Jemma voice cuts through her teasing and it freezes Skye.

“Oh,” she says shortly, sinking back into her seat. She wonders where the rings are, the question sticks in her throat.

She decides to stay quiet.

vi.

The apartment feels surprisingly cozy, all things considered.

The living room is pretty eclectic, and reminds her vaguely of her bunk on the Bus. There’s a poster of dogs playing poker on one wall, different types of throw pillows litter the couch, and a recliner in the corner with a bookshelf next to it that has only half a shelf of actual books. The rest of the shelves are filled with little trinkets, a few she recognizes from various missions, and a few she doesn’t.

She can practically feel everyone’s eyes upon her as she surveys the living room, so she attempts to paste a smile on her face and gives them a nonchalant, “Looks good.”

Everyone relaxes, except for Ward, which Skye assumes is because he looks perpetually constipated.

Lance clears his throat, “I’ve made up the guest room for you.”

“We have a guest room?” The ‘we’ rolls off her tongue almost naturally.

“Well, it’s more of a office with a cot in it,” he trails off, looking so painfully uncomfortable that Skye takes pity on him.

“I’m sure it’s great.” There’s a false note in her voice that makes her wince.

She spends most of the day in the cramped office, where the desk is pushed off the side to make way for a single cot. Ward and Jemma help her arrange her things, while Lance rushes in and out of the room, claiming to be fetching things, but she knows that he can’t be in the same room for too long. She tries not to think about how it will be when they don’t have Jemma or Ward as a buffer.

Ward and Jemma linger in the doorway for longer than necessary, and Skye needs to practically push them out the doors with reassurances that she’ll be fine, before they leave.

However the moment they step out the door and she closes it behind them, she has the wild urge to rip it open and call out for them.

She turns around to face Lance who is standing a few feet away from her staring at her. “So what do we do now?”

“Dinner?” He asks, gesturing vaguely to the left.

She follows him into the kitchen as he pulls out a variety of pots until he picks the one he wants. “Pasta, alright?”

She nods, not trusting her voice.

He quietly pours some waters into the pot and lights the stove. The silence is stifling.

“How did we meet?” She asks gently.

He jumps regardless. “Oh,” he looks unsure for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you. Simmons says you need to regain your memories on your own.”

Skye huffs rolls her eyes. “I need to know who you are, okay?”

He winces, “I’m your husband.”

“So you say,” she tries to make her voice soothing. “But you have to understand, the last thing I remember, the last person I remember being, I didn’t want to get married. I have to understand why that changed.”

He’s quiet, and she waits for bated breath for him to begin speaking. “We,” he stutters for a moment. “Uh, you and I.” He trails off. “You didn’t want to get married at first.” He says finally, focusing his eyes on the water in the pan.

“Oh?”

“I asked,” he clarifies, “when Ward and Simmons got married. You thought it was ridiculous. You said we were in love, and that’s all that mattered.”

Aside from the in love part, that did sound like her. She relaxes a bit and slips into a nearby stool.

He looks lost in thought as he continues. “I got shot a few months later, it was a minor thing really, but you panicked a bit and promised to marry me if I pulled through.”

“You held me to it?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he shakes his head ruefully. “I told you that I knew you were panicking, it doesn’t have to mean anything. But you insisted, you said that you wanted to get married, not just because you thought I would die, but because you realized that you actually wanted to the moment you thought you might not have the chance to anymore.”

This stumps her. “Oh,” she says quietly. She struggles for a moment with what to say. And she supposes he does as well, because there’s an uncomfortable silence that neither of them can seem to break. “I should,” she gestures vaguely out the door, “go lie down. I’m feeling a bit tired.”

She expects him to disagree, say something like the foods almost ready, or I’m sorry. Instead, he nods. “I’ll bring you a bowl when it’s done.”

It was her suggestion, but she can’t help feel a vague sense of disappointment, as she walks out of the room.

vii.

Things go downhill fast.

She doesn’t know how to act around someone she doesn’t really know, but supposedly loves. And he doesn’t know how to act around the woman he loves when she doesn’t recognize her.  
Ward and Jemma take to hanging around their apartment more than necessary to alleviate the awkwardness. And when they can’t make it, there’s dear sweet Fitz, who putters around their apartment fixing their broken laundry machine and coffee maker. Eventually Lance introduces her to Mack and Bobbi.

She likes Mack well enough. But Bobbi is Lance’s ex-wife, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Bobbi assures her that there’s nothing to be uncomfortable about, they simply didn’t work out and they’re still good friends, so are her and Skye.

(She starts to do that, think of herself in third person when she’s referring to the Skye who still had her memories.)

She doesn’t feel jealous, she realizes as she watches Bobbi and Lance interact. However there’s a sense of comfort around them that only comes from years of being close with one another. She envies that. She envies the fact that her husband’s ex-wife is closer to him than she ever will be.

(She hopes desperately that’s not true.)

viii.

He finds her crying that evening.

His face twists at the sight, and he moves towards her with a swiftness that she didn’t think he was capable of. In moments, she’s wrapped in his arms, and sobbing full on. It takes a couple moments for the heaving to die down, and to realize that he’s murmuring in her ears. Most of it doesn’t make sense, but one phrase sticks out.

“It’ll be okay.”

ix.

After that, for awhile, it is.

He doesn’t look at her like one day she’s going to wake up and know who he is. He smiles at her in the morning and handles her freezer burnt waffles with tons of syrup on top. He laughs (a bit forcefully) when she jokes about her lack of memory. He makes an effort. 

And slowly it kills her.

(Partially because every morning, he gets this look in his eyes before he makes eye contact with her. Like _today is the day, the day she will wake up and remember me_.

It only takes a split second for him to realize that today isn't the day. And the flash of pain in his eyes is enough to knock the breathe out of her.)

She doesn’t notice it at first, because she’s thrilled that he’s coming to terms with her, the person that Skye left behind, the post-memory loss Skye. Eventually she comes to recognize the pang in her chest when he smiles and laughs at her. He hasn’t come to terms with her; he’s just gotten a lot better at hiding his disappointment.

It shouldn’t bother her; after all, she wants Skye back more than anything. She wants to be the person that everyone misses so much.

(Except she doesn’t know the way back to her because everything is darkness.)

x.

“My life is falling apart.”

Jemma cups her hands over the steaming tea in front of her. She raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m surprised you managed to say that with a straight face.”

“It’s because I truly believe it,” she sighs.

Jemma’s brows furrow with concern, and she places one of her hands over Skye’s. “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s messed up,” she explains slowly. “I want to get my memories back, but I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to?” Jemma says delicately, but Skye can see the panic in her eyes.

“It’s not like that, or it is, I’m not sure,” Skye rolls her eyes. “If you lost your memory and Ward stared at you all the time like he’s just waiting for you to jump up and shout ‘just kidding’ how would you feel?”

Jemma shrugs. “I imagine, fairly awful. Is Lance the issue here?”

“Sort of,” Skye says, her fists clenching. “This is going to make me sound like a horrible person, but I wish he would stop waiting, but I don’t know what else I want. Do I want him to accept me as I am? Do I want him to love me? Do I love him? I’m so confused.” She drops her head into her hands.

Jemma sits back, her face thoughtful. “I think you’re just being a bit selfish, to be quite honest.”

Skye looks up at her, “Why did I decide to talk to you again?”

Jemma shushes her. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

Skye snorts. “Jemma, most people don’t really consider selfishness an asset in a person.”

“Yeah,” Jemma agrees. “But you’re not most people.” She leans forward, her face softening. “Skye, you just went through a major trauma, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You have the right to be selfish. And if Lance isn’t helping your recovery, you have the right to be selfish about it.”

Skye’s face scrunches with confusion. “What are you suggesting?”

xi.

“I’m leaving you.”

Her words echo in the silence.

His head snaps up, his eyes are wide. She knows that he heard what she said, yet still he asks, “What?”

“I’m leaving you,” she repeats. “Not legally, not permanently. But I think I need some space, so I’m going to move in with Grant and Jemma temporarily.”

His mouth opens and closes rapidly, and she can almost see him going through all the scenarios in his head. She knows this has to hurt him, he's been through this before, and she's rubbing salt in old wounds. But Jemma was right, she had to be selfish.

“It’s not your fault,” she admits. “Not entirely. I just need some space. I need some time.”

“Space?” He murmurs so quietly, she almost doesn’t hear him.

She didn’t want to tell him, really she didn’t, but the words slip out of her mouth before she can control them. “You keep looking at me like you want someone else, and I can’t take that anymore.”

His face contorts with pain, and she hurts, oh god, she hurts. She wants to go to him to comfort him. She has the strange urge to run her fingers over the top of his head, to feel the short ends of his hair, for him to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his head in her stomach. But she can’t. She can’t do that to him. And even if she did it, she fears she could never leave after that, and she has to, for them.

“Jemma and Grant will be here soon,” she says slinging her bag across her chest. “I’ll go wait down stairs.”

She takes a few steps towards the door, before he strides in front of her and blocks the door.

“I’m only going to say this once before you go,” his voice is shaking, and she almost caves right there. “Don’t leave.”

Her heart falls. “Lance,” she says slowly.

“Don’t leave,” he cuts her off. “Stay here, stay with me. I know it’s been hard, but I’ll be better. I won’t look at you like I’m waiting for you to remember who you are. I'll let you be yourself. We don't have to see anyone you used to know. We can move, disavow from Shield and start over. I'll go anywhere with you. You’re my wife, and I love you. Please stay.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep shaky breath. “That’s the problem though,” her eyes snap open. “I don’t have to remember who I am, I am her. She is me. I’m Skye, this is who I am now. I don’t know if I can ever remember who I used to be. You love her, not me. You don’t really want me to stay.”

His eyes widen and he takes a step back.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. And then she pushes past him and slams the door shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Grant Ward has to deal with Skye living in his guest bedroom. And the only way to change that is by going along with Jemma's crazy plans, which apparently involves hiding behind a plant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I thought this would take me alot longer, but guess it's only been a week. So I hope you are all happy. Anyway, this is for christianmarvel's prompt 'Nightmares', and since you said either pairing was okay, this fic has both pairings. It's a lot fluffier than it should be (considering this is an angst meme), but I thought I should bring a bit of closure to the Skye's memory plotline. Because I have to torture Ward x Simmons next chapter *cackles*.

i.

He wakes up to the sound of screams, and before awareness can hit him, he reaches for the gun in the nightstand and sits up straight, pointing the gun at the door.

It takes a few moments for awareness to kick in and for him to realize he’s pointing the gun at his wife.

"Sorry," he murmurs sheepishly, lowering the gun and placing it back on the nightstand.

"This is why I said no guns under the pillow." She says tiredly, crossing her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t look too upset, almost like she had been expecting it. She looks more exhausted that it actually happened.

Or it is the fact that this is the third night is a row that they’ve waken up in the middle of the night like this.

"It wasn’t under the pillow," he says defensively. "It was in the nightstand."

"Semantics," she waves off, moving towards the doorway.

He gets up, following her down the dark hallway, towards the guest room at the end. The screams get louder as they near the door and stop abruptly as they stand in front of the door.

Jemma leans towards him. “Has she gone back to sleep?”

He shakes his head. “I think she woke up.” He twists the knob to reveal Skye sitting bolt up right in bed, panting and shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she shudders. “Did I wake you?”

Jemma tuts as she moves past him to engulf Skye in her arms. “How bad was it tonight?”

Skye does her best to keep up a good front, but soon enough she dissolves into shaking sobs and Grant uses the opportunity to grab the leather diary off the nightstand. The dream diary had been Jemma’s idea, of course. When it had become clear that Skye’s nightmares weren’t going away, Jemma had decided it would be a good idea to write down the things she saw in her dreams. Using the images, they might be able to piece together the fragments of Skye’s memories.

However, whenever Jemma’s arms were occupied with Skye, the writing fell to Grant. This happened fairly often.

Eventually the sobs subside and the words begin. Grant writes them dutifully, but there’s nothing new to write. Faces she can’t put names to, Lance, being shot by Ian Quinn, Coulson on the table after Raina kidnapped him, Lance, more faces, Lance, and so on and so forth.

(Honestly the whole thing more tiring rather than helpful.)

Finally the sobs and words cease and Skye’s breathing evens out, so Grant places the book back on the nightstand, and glances towards Jemma who is baring most of Skye’s weight. He gently shifts Skye off his wife and holds his hand out for her.

“It’s two in the morning,” he says softly. “We should try to get some more rest.”

She takes his outstretched arm gratefully and lets him haul her off the bed. He closes the door behind him before he begins to speak.

“This is starting to feel a little useless. Her nightmares aren’t easing up, and they make little sense.”

Jemma ponders that for a moment. “I’m not sure about that.”

Grant raises an eyebrow at her. “You think otherwise?”

Jemma shrugs. “I have a theory, well more of a hypothesis because it's not tested.”

He pulls her to a stop and turns her towards him. “Share it with me.”

“Maybe we’ve been thinking about this the wrong way.” Jemma pauses for a moment. “We’ve been assuming that just because Skye lost her memories, she doesn’t feel the same way about us as she used to. What if that isn’t true? What if the feelings are there, it’s just confusing because she doesn’t have the memories to justify them?”

“So you’re saying that she still cares about us, she just doesn’t know why?”

“I’m saying it’s more than that.” Jemma stresses. “She trusts us deeply, she doesn’t remember why. She doesn’t remember how many times she placed her lives in our hand. She probably feels a connection to Mack and Bobbi that she can’t explain. More than that, I think she loves Lance, but she can’t explain why. She probably thinks she loves him on the principle of him being her husband. But I don’t think so. I think the feelings are still there, she just can’t explain them because she doesn’t have the memories.”

That, actually, made a lot of sense. “So that’s why Hunter keeps popping up in her dreams.”

“Right,” Jemma says enthusiastically. “She keeps thinking about him. She can’t get him out of her thoughts. So he appears when she’s vulnerable and needs comfort.”

“Why doesn’t she go and talk to him?” He asks. “If she knows she loves him, I mean.”

“I doubt she realizes it. Besides even if she did, the last thing she would do is admit it to him without explanation.” Jemma raises her eyebrows at him. “You of all people should understand that.”

Fair point.

“So how do we test this hypothesis of ours?” Grant asks. It’s not that he wishes to kick Skye out of his house. Jemma is due in a few months, and he needs to start getting the nursery ready. Also he kinda wants her out of his house.

A mischievous smirk takes over Jemma's face. "I love it when you speak science to me." Then her face straightens with determination, “We convince Lance to win her back.”

ii.

“You want me to date my wife?”

Lance is unsurprisingly skeptically about the idea, and Grant admits it’s a bit of stretch. But he can’t deny Jemma anything at this point, so he simply shrugs at Lance.

“It’s just a way to remind her why she loves you,” Jemma says earnestly. “See the way that I see it, Skye still loves you, she just can’t remember why. All you have to do is remind her why.”

“And we’ll live happily ever after?” Lance finishes ruefully.

Jemma’s face falls, and Grant steps forward. “It’s not like that for any of us.” Grant raises an eyebrow at him. “But if you love Skye, and you want her back, you’ll do this.”

Lance puts on a good show, but Grant can see through him easily. There are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his posture has been tense since they mentioned Skye’s name. He wants her back, badly. And Grant knows he’ll do anything.

Lance sighs. “What’s the plan?”

Jemma claps excitedly. “Fantastic. Now here’s my idea, you need to take Skye on a romantic date, somewhere new. It shouldn’t be a familiar place for the two of you, that will put too much pressure on her. Take her someplace new and pretend you’re just getting to know her.”

Lance nods. “I can do that.”

“And we’ll go get her ready.” Jemma finishes, tugging Grant out of the room. "This is going to be fantastic," she shouts at Lance over her shoulder. "I can feel it." 

iii.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Grant says again for emphasis.

“You mentioned that.”

“You’re not even completely hiding behind the plant.” He points out unhelpfully.

Jemma turns towards him, “That’s because I can’t fit.” She places her hands on her hips, and Grant is sure they’re about to get in another debate about how round she’s becoming, but mercifully she offers, “If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Good,” he breathes out, tugging her out from behind the plant, and pulling her towards the Maître-d. “Table for two,” he says. “Something in the back, if you have it.”

“He likes the dim lighting,” Jemma says suggestively, leaning in to the shell-shocked Maître-d.

He wants to slap his forehead, but he's long since stopped trying to curb Jemma's habit of making up outlandish lies. Instead he offers an apologetic smile towards the woman, who wordlessly leads them to a booth in the back that is dimly lit and in perfect view of Skye and Lance’s table.

Jemma settles into the plush seat and sighs. “Oh this is much better,” she says with a bright smile. “You should make the plans from now on.”

He considers pursuing the subject, but knows that he’ll pay for it later, and wisely decides to be quiet. “Do you have the receiver?”

“Right here,” she says, sliding a flesh colored inner ear piece towards him, and then placing the other in her ear. She hesitates for a moment, “Do you think this is a bad idea?”

“You’re backing out now?” He asks, ear piece half in his ear.

“I’m just wondering if this is a terrible invasion of privacy.”

He rolls his eyes. “It is.”

“You are no help,” she grouses, before frowning. “I just want to make sure that everything goes well.”

Grant softens and places a hand over Jemma’s. “I know. And it’ll be fine, just as long as we’re not made.” Squeezing her hand once to reassure her, he returns his attention to the conversation going on in his ear.

Jemma raises her menu a fraction to stare blatantly at the couple, while having an excuse to do so. But Grant goes for a more subtle approach. There’s a mirror lining the back of the restaurant, and he stares at that which gives him a good view of Skye and the back of Hunter’s head.

Skye puts down the menu that is in her hands, finishing up her long monologue about why she had decided to go with the Mac and Cheese, which Jemma begins to look at with more attention.

“Jemma says that you have something to talk to me about?” Skye says with a touch of nervousness, probably wondering if Lance was going to make another ploy to win her back or make her remember everything.

Hunter fidgets for a moment before responding. “Simmons thinks it would be a good idea if we tried to get to know each other again. And,” he sighs, “I miss you.”

Skye’s face falls a bit. “I miss you too,” she admits. “I can’t quite explain why, but without you around me,” she trails off.

Hunter picks up on her confusion, and reaches across the table towards her. “I understand,” he says quietly, and with more emotion than Grant has ever heard him speak with.

Skye stares at him for a moment longer, before she pulls her hand out of his grip and rearranges her face into a soft smile. “So since this is sort of like a date, tell me more about yourself Lance Hunter.”

Grant doesn’t hear what Lance says in response because at the moment a waitress blocks his view and says in an extra chipper voice, “I’m Rose and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” She glances at Jemma’s round stomach and adds, “Or some water?”

Jemma stares at the menu. “I think I’ll have some water, thanks. Also, can I start with the Top-o-Nachos with extra guacamole and sour cream?”

Grant is almost surprised how easily Jemma adapts to the intrusion.

(Then again, he isn't, because she had been staring at the menu a bit more intently than necessary.)

“Sure,” Rose says, scribbling into her little notebook.

Jemma glances up at him. “Would you like anything?”

Rose gives a pause, as if to clarify if the nachos were simply for Jemma, but seems to think better of it.

Grant is extremely grateful for that.

“Just water,” he says, without glancing at the menu. “And a side of rice with a side of grilled vegetables and chicken.”

“Oh,” she says a bit taken aback, he assumes because he ordered nothing off the menu. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” he flashes a smile at her, before glancing back at Jemma, whose attention is back on Skye and Lance.

“It’s going quite well,” Jemma comments quietly as Rose walks away. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Considering his first date with Jemma ended with a fire, broken glass, and evacuation, he thinks that any date would go well. He nods, though, to appease her.

He tunes back into the conversation.

“Really?” Skye exclaims, laughter in her voice. “May shot you.”

Lance laughs goodnaturedly. “Yup, but I deserved it.”

Skye shakes her head slightly. “No doubt.” She pauses for a moment, considering her words. “How did we get together?”

Lance makes a choking noise and then clears his throat. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“You said that the last time, something about me getting my memories back naturally. And eventually, I gathered that we met through Shield. It doesn’t look like my memories are coming back, so could you just tell me. I'm really tired of not knowing things.” Skye says exasperatedly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lance says, a bit defensively, sitting up straighter in his chair. “It’s just that I don’t think that should matter.”

“Meaning?”

“When Simmons told me about her little plan, I thought it was ridiculous. You’re my wife, and I shouldn’t have to woo you, but sitting here with you, I realized she was right.” Lance sighs, while Jemma gives a small hiss of victory. “And you were too.”

“What was I right about?” Skye’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“When you left, you said it was because you’re a different person, and it broke my heart. But you were right. You’re different, and that’s not sure a bad thing.” Lance says with a shrug.

Skye’s face clears up, and a vulnerable note enters her voice. “It’s not?”

Lance leans across the table and clasps Skye’s hands in his own. “It’s not, because you’re different, but you’re still her. Skye, I love you. And I know that one-day, you’ll love me too, just like she did. But the only way that’s going to happen is if we let this happen on it’s own. I don’t want to let the memories of the past burden you. If you remember everything one day, great. If not, whatever, I still love you.”

It’s probably the longest speech Grant has ever heard out of Hunter’s mouth. Skye’s eyes moisten and Jemma gives a suspicious sniffle, so he thinks that the little speech worked.

“Heard all you wanted to hear?” He asks Jemma.

She nods, clasping her hand over her mouth, not trusting her voice.

He stops Rose in her path. “I think we’re going to need those Top-o-Nachos to-go.”

iv.

When Skye gets home, they’re sitting on the couch, Jemma nestled comfortably in his arms, the game is playing on mute, as her eyelids begin to flutter.

(Their take out is already taken out to the big garbage can because Grant is nothing if not through.

And because Skye never takes the garbage out.)

Jemma perks up at the sound of the front door, and she sits up a little to catch Skye in her tracks. “How was it?” She asks eagerly.

Skye smiles slightly and saunters into the living room, plopping down on her loveseat next to them. “Amazing,” Skye sighs. “He was just wonderful.”

“What did he say?” Jemma asks, playing along.

“He said he wanted to start from scratch, do it right.” Skye melts into the loveseat a bit. “God I just wanted to grab him right there.”

“Oh,” Jemma sighs happily. “That’s wonderful Skye, I’m so happy.”

"He's like this tick I can't quite get rid of," Skye says thoughtfully, her voice a bit breathy. "And after tonight, I'm not quite sure that I want to." Her eyes clear up a bit, and her voice grows more serious. “Lance said you talked some sense into him.” Skye says, turning her attention to Jemma. “So thank you.”

“I’m just happy you’re happy.” Jemma says. “When are you seeing him again?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Skye says happily. “Oh, I don’t care. We’re married, after all.” She stands up. “Now I’m off to bed, I have to be up early tomorrow for my date. We’re having breakfast.”

“Good night,” Jemma and Grant call from the couch.

Grant waits until Skye is out of earshot. “Good work, Mrs. Ward,” he murmurs in her ear, pulling her into his embrace.

v.

That night, Skye doesn’t have any nightmares.

vi.

That’s not to say that Skye never has nightmares again, she does, but from that point on, Grant chalks it up to Hunter’s problem.

(Because the man is actually sleeping over in his house, first on the couch, then with Skye.)

The first night, Jemma’s halfway out of bed before the screams abruptly stop. They hover outside of Skye’s door until they can hear the crying subside enough to make way for Lance’s low voice soothing her.

It helps that their meddling fast tracks their dating and by the end of the third week of ‘dating’ Skye moves back into Lance’s apartment with a quick “Thanks, but I’m moving my meager possessions back into my apartment, so you two can get back to whatever it was that you did before I moved in.”

(Grant begins by dragging his wife upstairs for a good nights sleep.

And after that, well...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and kudos if you enjoyed, and subscribe if you want to see more, because there's definitely one more chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos and comment if you enjoyed. Also subscribe because there's two more chapters to follow!


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